The world of Briskull

Legends tell of a time when powerful wizards roamed the world, with magics so powerful they were seen and heard from miles away. Magics powerful enough to frighten entire armies, or lay them to waste. Stories abound of Men of the Gods. People who were chosen by their god, who could bring the very essence of their God onto this plane. Such men could raise the dead, bring pillars of flame from the sky, or give courage to an entire troupe of warriors. Enough to challenge the denizens of the Hells, make entire cities vanish, or even change reality itself. Legends, though. All of them. There is nobody alive who has seen such things, much less somebody who can perform them.

Stories tell of warriors who could single handedly challenge ogres, or giants, or even dragons. Of warriors who could rip a portcullis out of a gate. Men who could drink a vat of poison and survive. Men who could disappear while an entire court of people was watching them. People so fast they could chase down deer. Whose feats and skill in battle caused armies to falter. Their weapons and armor were of the most amazing craft. Some speak of swords that could cut through steel as if it were meat. Maces that could reduce rocks to rubble. Daggers that spewed flame. Shields that withstood direct hits from boulders flung by a giant. Armors impossible to be pierced by any weapon.

These are all stories though. None of this is possible. There are enchanted weapons, strong men, magic men, and disciples of the gods, but all of the stories you hear are but that. Stories. Thinking you can be one of these legends can get you killed, if you get a big head. It WILL get you killed. Remember, you aren’t a legend. You are naught, but a person.